The Emerald
by The Avid Musician
Summary: A new and famous French musician comes to England. Soon after, she disappears. Why did she disappear? What is she hiding? Holmes/OC
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: not mine._

**The Emerald**

**Chapter One  
**

"Holmes, where are we going?" a man in his mid thirties called from within a room.

"A concert, Watson! A concert! There is a new instrumentalist whose skills are praised by the Queen herself!" a very tall, dark man called back.

"Which concert hall is this at?" Watson shouted, jogging out of the room and down the stairs.

"The Royal Concert Hall," Holmes said, pulling his coat about his shoulders.

"What is his name, this musician?" Watson asked, hurriedly shouldering his own coat.

"_Her_ name is Gwendolyn de Bohun," Holmes said, opening the door and walking out to the cab.

"A woman?" Watson asked, surprised. He quickly followed Holmes out.

The two of them sat in the cab, and Holmes waved for the cabby to drive. As soon as they were moving, Holmes continued by saying, "This is her first performance in England, aside from just for the Queen and her attendants."

"What does she play?" Watson asked. Holmes did not answer for a few seconds. "Holmes? Holmes!"

"What is it, Watson?" the hawk-nosed man snapped.

"What instrument does Miss de Bohun play?" Watson asked, somewhat annoyed.

"I don't know," Holmes said bluntly. He said nothing more until they arrived at the theatre.

"Come, Watson! We need to get to our seats!" Holmes suddenly said quite energetically.

Watson sighed and followed his friend up the steps and into the theatre. They hurried to their seats, sitting down just before the performance started.

Holmes looked up to the stage. A grand piano was in the middle of the stage as well as a chair and a music stand.

Not five seconds later, the lights dimmed and a young woman in a beautiful, white dress with green trim walked on stage. A large emerald rested on her breast bone. Her hair was pure white, and her eyes shone a dark crimson, like blood, in the light of the chandelier's candles. Her skin was flawless and translucent, though almost sickly in its paleness. She appeared to be in her twenties. She was short, only about five feet tall. Through the dress, everyone could tell that she was very slender, but she still had graceful curves. Her fingers were short, an oddity among musicians, but they were very elegant and just as slender as the rest of her.

She sat by the piano and began to play. The dark, haunting notes drifting through the music hall subtly from the bass end of the piano. The entire audience unconsciously leaned forward, straining to hear the soft notes. As the song progressed, people shifted and fidgeted less and less until the song ended. The hall was silent and still in shock.

Holmes listened with rapt attention. Her musicality was nearly unparalleled. She was a technical genius, but that was common enough in these times. Her music swelled and faded in waves of beautiful sound, absolutely incomparable to anyone or anything he had ever heard.

Watson, on the other hand, was far from a connoisseur of music. He only understood what good music was in general. He hardly knew anything of the finer and more precise nuances of music. Despite these inadequacies, the doctor was still quite enraptured by this music. It stirred emotions deep within him, emotions of sadness, joyfulness, longing, content, and many more.

This trance-like state was broken by the end of the song. Holmes and Watson stood and applauded vigorously, as did everyone else in the now filled concert hall. Miss de Bohun stood and curtsied once before turning on her toe and walking off the stage.

The rest of the concert progressed much the same with Miss de Bohun taking part in a woodwind quartet, a woodwind trio, and a rendition of 'Queen of the Night' accompanied by a pianist. At the end of each piece, she received a standing ovation, for each part was just as astounding, emotional, and haunting as the first. She smiled brightly at the end of the final piece and curtsied once before exiting the stage.

Only then did everyone begin to file out the doors, avidly discussing the performance. Watson and Holmes took their time more than many people did.

Right around the time the two men had just exited the building, they saw a woman in white walk past them. It was that wonderful musician. She was even more beautiful up close, not that Holmes would notice. After all, Watson was the one that had experience with the 'fairer-sex'.

As she gracefully wove through the crowd, Holmes hurried forward to intercept her. Watson followed quickly, just as eager to meet her. The detective sped a little to make it appear as though he was busy. Then, he purposely bumped into her, making it look like an accident. "Oh, my apologies, Miss de Bohun," he said sincerely.

"Everything is fine, Mr.?" Miss de Bohun said, asking for his name.

"Sherlock Holmes, at your service," he said, holding his hand out for her to shake.

"Did you enjoy the concert, Monsieur Holmes?" she asked politely.

He smiled and said, "It was most outstanding. Tell me, for how long have you been a musician?"

"I have been involved with music for my entire life."

"That is remarkable!" Watson said.

"What about you two gentlemen? What brings you to this concert?" she asked, tilting her head slightly in curiosity.

"The Queen announced that she had found a most singular musician who would be coming here to perform. Naturally, Holmes was curious as to the skill of a musician that could catch the Queen's eye."

"Well now that you have heard me, were you disappointed?" she asked slyly.

"Quite the opposite, Miss de Bohun. Your skills are nearly unparalleled," Holmes said quite honesty and bluntly.

"Thank you, Monsieur Holmes," she said, grateful for his honesty. She glanced over to the street, and her eyes locked on a black carriage.

"If you two gentlemen will excuse me, I must be leaving now," she said, nodding her head to them both.

"Certainly, Miss de Bohun. I look forward to your future performances," Holmes said.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss de Bohun," Watson said, echoing the sentiments.

"Au revoir," she said with a smile before turning and walking to the carriage. Both of them watched her until the carriage turned a corner.

"What a charming, young lady," Watson observed, turning to his friend.

"Watson, did you observe the heraldic design on the door of the carriage?" Holmes said, turning his grey eyes, alight with curiosity, to his colleague.

"This is hardly the time for an investigation, Holmes!" Watson exclaimed.

"The design was a red fleur-de-lis on a white background, the coat of arms for the Grand Duchy of Tuscany."

"She's connected to the Grand Dukes of Tuscany?" Watson exclaimed.

"She most likely knows the children of the last Grand Duke, Ferndinand IV," Holmes explained.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

For a week, neither Holmes nor Miss de Bohun thought of each other. They seemed to have completely forgotten about each other. Watson, on the other hand, often pondered, the mystery tht was Miss de Bohun. She was connected to former Italian nobility, and yet she masqueraded as a poor, French musician. The question was: why?

That very day, which was a week after the concert, another concert was announced. It was that very night, and the performer was Miss de Bohun again. Both Holmes and Watson instantly decided to go to the concert and hear her again.

Both men were silent for the entire ride to the concert hall, so great was their anticipation. They hurried in and sat, waiting to hear her again.

Five minutes later, Miss de Bohun stepped out onto the stage in a dress of shining yellow and gold. It accentuated her waist and overall small built, as well as the pure white of her hair and the dark red colour of her eyes. Once again, she wore the same emerald necklace about her neck.

Not far behind her was a man. He held a cello. Behind him entered four men, two violins, a viola, and a string bass. The first man handed the cello off to Miss de Bohun while the others each took a seat, except for the bass player. They played a cello-exulting quintet that showcased quick runs that she played flawlessly.

She also played solo trumpet for a brass choir, tuba for the same brass choir, a violin solo, a clarinet duet, a piano concerto, and an Aria for soprano. Each was fantastic. Once again, the audience displayed reactions of shock and awe as her music pulled them through a whole new range of emotions.

Afterwards, Holmes hurried out to the door again, almost missing Miss de Bohun.

"Wait!" he called, running to catch up to her.

She glanced back without slowing, but she stopped dead when she realized whom she saw. "Mr. Holmes?" she asked hesitantly, shocked.

"Miss de Bohun, you were wonderful again," Watson said as they hurried over to where she stood.

"Thank you, but I must admit that I am surprised to be seeing you two again. What did you think of the performance, Mr. Holmes?"

"It was astounding, Miss de Bohun. How did you learn to play so well?" Holmes asked.

"When I was three, my foster father taught me to play violin. I began to sing when I was five. Gabriel Faure taught me piano when I was eight; and I began clarinet, flute, cello, viola, trumpet, and tuba within the past two years," she explained, smiling slightly.

"Now, gentlemen, you know much about me, yet I know almost nothing about you two. Would you care to rectify that?"

"Well, Miss de Bohun, I am a Medical Doctor by profession, and Holmes here is a detective," Watson answered.

"Obviously not from Scotland Yard. You are far too intelligent, and your mentality is entirely wrong," she observed.

"Quite right, Miss de Bohun. I trust you have previously met one of their inspectors. Am I correct?" Holmes observed, impressed by her deductive abilities.

"You are indeed correct. I have had some experience with Inspector Lestrade. I believe you have worked with him before, Mr. Holmes," she continued, elaborating.

"Right again, Miss de Bohun. I presume you saw the headline from last month," Holmes said, intensely interested in the conversation.

"Yes. Now regarding Dr. Watson, he smelled of drugs. It wasn't strong, and he lacked the symptoms of an addict, like the slight skin in discolouration of the fingers you suffer from, Mr. Holmes. Tobacco, cocaine, and the occasional morphine, Monsieur?" she said.

"I trust you shall not tell anyone, Miss de Bohun," Holmes said quietly, stiffly, and seriously.

"Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Holmes," she said with a smile. "Now, if you will excuse me, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson. My carriage is here," she continued, turning to leave.

"Wait! Miss de Bohun, might I take you to dinner after your next concert?" Holmes asked like a true gentleman.

"Only if you call me Gwendolyn," she said kindly, "And you as well, Doctor."

"Well in that case, you can call me John," Watson said, smiling.

"And you may call me Sherlock," Holmes said, completely shocking Watson.

"I will see you then, Sherlock," she said, offering her hand for him to shake before leaving.

"Until then, Gwendolyn," Watson said with the fondness of an uncle in his voice.

"Gwendolyn," Holmes whispered before walking to the cab with Watson.

Once in the cab, Watson asked him, "Holmes, you never let anyone but Mycroft call you Sherlock! What is going on with you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Watson. I am fine," Holmes said matter-of-factly.

Watson's head shot up to look at Holmes. "What do you think of Gwendolyn, Holmes?" he asked.

"What does she have to do with your diagnosis, Watson?" Holmes demanded.

"Just tell me, Holmes," Watson demanded.

Holmes huffed angrily, but he said, "She is extremely intelligent and observant. Her musical skills are nearly unparalleled.

Watson's eyes widened and he whispered in both amusement and shock, "I did not think it possible!"

"Watson, I am well aware that I am obtuse, but when you behave similarly, you are intensely aggravating."

Watson began to laugh. As he did, he said merrily, "Holmes, I don't know how to tell you this, but you're in love," Watson said, trying not to laugh at the irony of it.

"That's ridiculous, Watson!" Holmes persisted. In his heart, Holmes wasn't so sure.

"Suit yourself, Holmes," Watson said, shaking his head and looking away.

ooooooooooooo

The following morning, Watson woke bright and early. He donned his day clothing before entering the living room of 221B. Holmes already sat with a half smoked pipe as though he had been up for hours. Or perhaps, he had not actually slept. Knowing Holmes, he was probably pondering a new issue that had arisen within these past hours.

Regardless of his colleague's seemingly catatonic state, Watson strolled languidly into the room, intent upon breakfast and a spot of tea. As he sat, Holmes suddenly decided to speak, frightening Watson nearly out of his wits. "I have thought about your diagnosis and deemed it entirely inaccurate."

"Just you wait, Holmes. One day she will return to France, and you will realize that you care about her," Watson declared indignantly.

"I highly doubt that, Watson," Holmes shot back, equally as indignant.

"Then why did you ask her to dinner? Why did you allow her to call you Sherlock?" Watson demanded, thinking that Holmes would think on that and realize he did indeed care about her.

The good doctor was disappointed again; for after a second of though, Holmes answered, "I wish to know the extent of her deductive ability, and it would seem odd if I called her by her first name while she had naught but my surname."

"Must you always dodge my questions, Holmes?" Watson asked, annoyed and exasperated.

"That is the best answer I can give at this time," Holmes said.

"Very well, Holmes. You can join me for breakfast. I won't pester you further," Watson said, gesturing to the opposite chair.

Holmes did, in fact, join Watson for breakfast, though he ate little. In fact, his place was barely even touched before Mrs. Hudson came for the tray.

Not five minutes later, Mrs. Hudson re-entered saying, "You have visitors, Mr. Holmes."

She exited, showing two people in at the same time. The first was a balding, middle-aged man in expensive clothes. His expression was one of distaste for his surroundings.

The second man was around thirty years old. His expression was rather non-descript. His facial structure was German. His brown hair and eyes also fell into the category of Germanic descent.

His clothing was of the same make and quality as the first man, but his expression held none of the distaste of the older man. Quite the contrary, he seemed to study the room for multiple seconds before turning his attention to the two residents.

"Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, I presume?" the older man said, double-checking their identities.

"Yes, and you are?" Holmes said, studying the two men.

"I am Sir Robert Raleigh, and this is my nephew Jonathan Raleigh," the older of the two said, putting his hand out to shake.

Holmes took and shook Sir Robert's hand before saying somewhat graciously, "Please, sit."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," Sir Robert said as he and his nephew sat on the couch.

Holmes settled into his accustomed seat while Watson contented himself with standing. Once all four of them were entirely situated, the younger newcomer said, "Gentlemen, my uncle and I were sent by the Queen on a matter of some importance. You will have heard of the French musician, Gwendolyn de Bohun. Last night, she did not return from her concert. She was supposed to have dinner with the Royal family, but she never came. After having met her, I can assure you that she would not intentionally miss this appointment. We believe that something happened between the Royal Concert Hall and Buckingham Palace. The Queen wants you to find Miss de Bohun and find out what happened to her. Will you take the job, Mr. Holmes?"

"I will, Sir Robert," Holmes answered. His tone was void of any emotion, but within himself Holmes was nearly overcome by the strength and profoundness of the emotions, this news evoked. He felt sadness for her absence, worry that she might come to harm, and anger at anyone that dread to disrupt her life.

"I trust you shall help, Dr. Watson," Jonathan added, switching his gaze.

"To the best of my ability," Watson answered.

"Wonderful. Now Gentlemen, tell no one of this," Sir Robert said, an unspoken warning apparently.

"All of my cases are confidential," Holmes said dismissively.

"Thank you for your time, Gentlemen. We shall impose upon you no longer," Jonathan said, leading the way out the door. "Good day," he said just before he left.

"Good day," both Watson and Holmes said.

As soon as the door was closed, Watson said, "Do you miss her now, Holmes?"  
Holmes sighed heavily and asked, "You're still persisting?"

"Until you admit that you have feelings for her, yes!" Watson exclaimed.

"This is a waste of time, Watson. The case awaits!" Holmes said, springing to his feet and hurrying out the door. Watson sighed before clambering to his feet and following.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Holmes! Holmes, wait!" Watson called when they were already out of the house.

"There's no time, Watson! The trail is growing cold!" Holmes called over his shoulder before stepping into a cab.

Watson hurried into the cab before asking, "What are we going to do, Holmes? Where are we going to look?"

"We'll follow her trail, starting at the Royal Concert Hall," Holmes said as the cab traveled through the streets.

They did just as Holmes had sad. They followed her route through the streets of London until they found a man who had seen a carriage with the crest of Tuscany on the door.

"What happened to the cab?" Watosn questioned.

"Well, guv'nas, it just stopped in the mi'le o' t' roa'. 'Course i' was t' mi'le o' t' nigh'. No un abou', 'xept me. A man cloaked, go in 'o the cab. They talked abou' 'the emerald', 'Opera Garnier', and 'my employer's esta'es. 'ey 'urned righ' a' t' nex' in'ersection," the man answered with an atrocious accent.

"Did he have any distinguishing marks upon his person?" Holmes asked.

"Yes. 'e 'ad a cres' on 'is cloak. I' was a whi'e shell wif a black background," he replied.

"Thank you very much," Holmes said, tossing a coin in the man's direction.

"Mah pleasu'e," the man said, scurrying for the coin.

"Come, Watson!" Holmes said, hurrying back to the cab.

They went back to Baker Street for a bit of research before they continued to follow the trail.

When they arrived, Holmes quickly walked in. He went straight to the record of noble crests in Europe. He looked and found the family the crest belonged to: the Counts of Devonshire. The estates were not far outside London.

As soon as he knew that, Holmes said, "Watson! Come! We must go! I know where she is!"

"How did you find out so quickly, Holmes?"

"The crest is that of Count Arthur Devonshire. His estate is just outside London," Holmes said quickly, once more climbing into the cab. The ride was completely silent between the two.

When they stepped out of the cab, each was struck by certain observations. Watson noticed the impeccable conditions of both the grounds and the house. On the other hand, Holmes deduced that the gardens had only recently been taken care of. Also, the house had a decidedly castle-like architectural quality. It was built like a fortress, or a prison.

They entered the house and allowed the butler to tell the Count that he had visitors. Less than a minute later, the butler showed them the way to the Count's private study.

The Count's study was rather small. Every wall was covered with bookshelves, except the door and a very large window.

The count himself was a man of about 28 years. His hair was light brown and his eyes were brown. He was 5' 10' and obviously muscular. His clothes were those you would expect of a Count: freshly laundered, expensive, great quality, and perfectly fitted.

Count Arthur Devonshire looked up from some papers that he had been studying. As soon as eh did, he stood, smiled, and said, "Ah! Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, I presume!" He seemed quite friendly and welcoming.

"Yes, and you are Count Arthur Devonshire, correct?" Watson said.

"Indeed I am. Now, what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked, still jovial.

"What do you know of the newest court musician?" Holmes asked, beginning in a series of questions that he had tentatively planned.

"I hear she's quite marvelous, though I haven't had the opportunity of going to hear her perform," the Count said.

Holmes noticed something then. On the mantel above the fireplace, there was an engagement ring sitting still in its box. Behind it was a silver necklace with a large emerald as its pendant. Holmes recognized it immediately.

"For whom is that?" Holmes asked, gesturing to the ring.

Instantly, the count's expression became one of sorrow, grief, sadness, and anger. "That belonged to a lady I met in Paris. Her name was Giuliana Puccini," the Count said, gazing at the ring and looking like he would burst into tears at any second.

"No. Her surname was Habsburg-Lorraine," Holmes said immediately, without even thinking.

"Holmes, he just said-," Watson began.

"I am aware of what he said, Watson. However, Puccini is not Miss Giuliana's true last name," Holmes said, cutting Watson off. "Count, have you seen Miss Giuliana recently?"

"I wish I had," the Count said, squeezing his eyes shut in sorrow.

"We are sorry to have troubled you, Count," Holmes said, suddenly.

"It is no problem, Gentlemen. Think nothing of it," the Count said, excusing them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Holmes and Watson walked out of the room. As soon as the door was shut, Watson demanded, "What the hell was that, Holmes?"

"Merely a part of the investigative process," Holmes said, leading the way out with quick, long strides.

"That man is clearly distraught! Why did you bring that up?" Watson demanded.

"When I shook hands with Gwendolyn, I noticed that she wore a ring. On it was the same seal that the carriage bore. No one but a member of the family would have a signet ring. I searched through my records and found Ferdinand IV's daughter's names were Maria, Luise, Anna, Margareta, and Germana. However, he had a stillborn daughter named Giuliana in 1859," Holmes explained.

"What does that have to do with anything? She was stillborn!" Watson said.

"Gwendolyn is Giuliana. Her father hid her so he would not have the shame of an albino daughter," Holmes said, spelling it out.

Suddenly, Holmes stopped, holding up an arm to halt Watson as well. The doctor looked around and noticed that they were no longer in sight of the house.

"Come, Watson, and be silent!" Holmes said, hurrying off into the trees.

"Where are we going, Holmes?" Watson demanded.

"The Count was lying. He looked down and to the left whenever he spoke of Giuliana. Also, there is rope burn on his fingers, and he smells vaguely like feminine products. He is holding her captive in that house," Holmes explained as he wove between the trees stealthily.

"How do you-," Watson began.

"Be silent, Watson! The game is afoot!" Holmes said as the house came into view.

They checked several of the ground floor windows before they found one that was unlatched. The Count was quite thorough in that respect. Holmes quickly pushed the window open and climbed through before turning back to help the shorter man through.

As soon as they were both inside, Holmes led the way through the house, searching for Giuliana.

They went a few doors farther down, carefully peeking through each room. Finally, Holmes found the correct room.

The two of them hurried inside. She was asleep. Watson was the first to reach her, shaking her gently yet urgently. No matter what they did, she would not wake. This alarmed both the doctor and the detective. However, Watson found a pulse at her neck, signifying that she was in fact alive.

"Holmes, it's useless. We have to carry her," Watson said, gesturing to her limp form.

Holmes nodded and, in one, swift, motion, scooped her up into his arms. He immediately walked straight to the door, pausing only to say, "Come along, Watson!"

They had not gone ten feet from the door before the Count stepped out of the shadows to block their path. "I thought I smelled a rat," he said, looking at Holmes. All traces of his friendly demeanour were gone. They had been replaced by a cold, haughty exterior that sneered at them and their attempted rescue.

Within seconds, four burly men arrived and took the two gentlemen forcibly by their arms.

"Take these gentlemen away," Count Devonshire said dismissively, gesturing vaguely to Watson and Holmes.

The four braves brought Watson and Holmes to a cellar. Within the rather small, dark room there was stored a rather large quantity of rope, which was used to tie the gentlemen's wrists and ankles securely before leaving them there.

As soon as the men were gone, Holmes began to work at his bonds. What was in fact only a half hour later, Holmes broke through the ropes binding his wrists. He quickly untied his ankles and Watson's wrists.

Once Watson had untied his ankles, he followed Holmes out of the room. Literally on the threshold of the room, he stopped abruptly. On the floor were two bodies, apparently the ones that had been guarding the door. Holmes stood over them, waiting impatiently for Watson.

As soon as Holmes saw Watson, he turned and led the way back to the room they had found Gwendolyn, Giuliana, in.

Holmes did not immediately enter the room, and prevented Watson from doing so as well. His suspicions were far too great for an instantaneous entrance. Now that they were both stopped, they could hear a voice from within the room. It was the Count.

"Why did you leave, Giuliana? Did you really love me, or was this just a cruel trick? I still love you! Don't worry, though. Whether or not this was a trick, I won't let you leave again. We'll be together forever," they heard the Count say.

That monologue hardened both men's resolve. Holmes silently opened the door before sneaking into the room as quietly as he could.

The sight that met their eyes enraged both of them, though Holmes more so. Count Arthur sat on the edge of the bed. Giuliana was still, lain on the bed. However, the majority of her clothes had been removed, leaving her in naught but her shift. She was now bound by silk ropes, gagged, and most assuredly conscious. The Count had a firm hold on one of her arms while his other hand stroked her hair.

Within seconds of his entrance, Giuliana noticed Holmes. Her eyes flicked to him only very briefly, but the Count noticed. "Well, Mr. Holmes, have you observed enough yet?" the Count asked.

"Indeed I have, Count. Why, might I ask, is Miss Habsburg-Lorraine bound to your bed without enough clothing to even be considered decent?"

"No, you may not ask, Mr. Holmes. It is none of you business what state my Giuliana is in," he said, turning to glare at Holmes. As he did that, he whipped out a gun and aimed it directly at Holmes's head.

"How will you get out of the country, much less to Rouen, if Scotland Yard is searching for her everywhere?" Holmes asked.

From the look on the Count's face, it was quite obvious that he had not thought of that issue. "How-?" the Count began before chuckling and saying, "You checked the shipping schedule."

"Hardly," Holmes said, thoroughly surprising the Count. "The cabin boy of your ship was remarkably forthcoming."

"Regardless of that, Mr. Holmes, this is the last time you will interfere with my plans," he said, cocking the gun.

The Count was about to pull the trigger, but Holmes lunged forward and knocked it out of his hands. He grabbed the Count's wrists, providing a grip with which to grapple for some time. Twice the Count nearly had the gun aimed at Holmes, but Holmes twisted out of the way.

"Freeze!" Watson shouted suddenly. The grappling men turned while Giuliana merely shifted her eyes to see Watson near the door with his revolver pointed at the Count.

This provided the distraction Holmes had needed. He brought his fist down hard on the Count's skull, effectively knocking him unconscious.

Only then did Watson and Holmes run to Giuliana's side. Her eyes were fluttering between open and closed, obviously fighting off sleep. Watson gently lifted her head up so that she could look at them. Her eyes met Holmes first, at which point she whispered weakly, "Sherlock...Where am I?"

"Pemberley Estate," he said quietly as Watson took one of her hands to check her pulse.

"Her pulse is too slow!" Watson exclaimed as Giuliana's eyes closed fully.

"Help...me..." she whispered haltingly as her final gasp in her fight against sleep.

"That idiot overdosed her!" Watson exclaimed, "Pick her up, Holmes! We have to get her to the hospital!"

Holmes took her into his arms without delay and ran out of the room with Watson hot on his heels. They jumped into the cab and ordered the driver to go as fast as he could.

In the surprisingly short ride to the hospital, Watson checked her eyes for dilation, her pulse for slowing, her breathe for slowing, and her temperature for hypothermia. All of her symptoms were consistent with opiate toxidrome.

A minute after he discovered that, they arrived at the hospital. Literally the moment the cab was stopped, they jumped out and ran in yelling for a doctor. One hurried over and asked, "What happened?"

"She needs Naloxone!" Watson said urgently. That was all he needed to know. The man quickly retrieved and administered the Naloxone, the antidote. Her pulse sped up, yet she showed no signs of waking.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

For three days, she showed no sign of waking. In this time, Holmes finally had time to ponder his feelings for this puzzling, young woman.

He had missed Giuliana, and her disappearance had ripped him through and through emotionally. He was constantly reminding himself that she might be dead long before he found her, but he never failed to follow that with a promise both to himself and to her that he would not let that happen.

When they had found her, he felt utter, overwhelming relief and joy, but the Count had taken her away from him again. This provoked anger and rage of the deepest nature within him.

The question now was: why? Why did he feel like this? What was this feeling?

He knew she was quite unusual. After all, there were not many albinos. That would mean that many people would fear her red eyes as a sign of the devil. He did not believe in such superstitions. Her very pale skin and white hair made her seem like a ghost to most people. Holmes merely thought that it allowed light to shine off her skin in a most peculiar yet fascinating way.

She was also short, a huge contrast to his rather great height. She was kind and joyful where he was cold and logical. She was in almost every way his opposite.

oooooooo

Three days. He, Sherlock Holmes, had waited three days. Every day he would go and sit by her side for all of the visiting hours.

After the first hour of waiting by her side, Holmes took her hand in his, unable to resist any longer. When she woke, that paid off.

Near the end of the third day, Giuliana's grip on Holmes's hand tightened suddenly. Seconds later, her eyes fluttered open.

Seeing these two things, Holmes bent closer to her and asked her quietly, "How are you feeling?"

"Drowsy, aching, and relieved," she answered, even quieter than him. Holmes with his superior hearing could barely make out what she said.

"Why relieved?" he asked, bending closer still to hear her reply.

"I am here with you, not back there with Arthur," she whispered, smiling slightly.

"Do not worry about him. He will not trouble you again," Holmes said.

"Thank you," she whispered, er voice getting slightly stronger. She squeezed his hand again and, unsuccessfully, tried to widen her smile.

Only then did Holmes notice how close their faces were. Their noses were only inches away from each other. His gaze travelled down further on her face, and he unconsciously inched closer to her. She kept watching his stormy grey eyes before closing them again.

Right then, the door opened. Holmes whipped his head to the door and sat up hurriedly. Watson stood in the doorway, frozen in shock from what he had just seen.

Holmes looked back to Giuliana, but she was unconscious once more. "Watson, she was conscious," he said, bending his head to her chest as if listening to her breathing. That would be a good enough excuse so that he could listen to her heart beat. He still would not dare touch anything other than her hand or her arm without her permission.

"Could she see and hear?" Watson asked, switching instantly into the role of doctor.

"Yes," Holmes said, not bothering to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"Then she should make a full recovery," Watson said, walking over and putting a hand to her wrist. With his other hand, Watson retrieved his pocket watch from his pocket. After some time, Watson nodded and put the pocket watch away. Only then did Watson leave.

Once his colleague was gone, Holmes was again left alone to his thoughts. Now, though, the main question was: why did he do that? The answer came unbidden to Holmes's mind, and it was instantly denied: _I love her._

That single realization shocked Holmes. He looked down at Giuliana. _She looks so beautiful when she is asleep,_ he though. That though was followed a second later by another, _It's true._

Immediately, the great detective hurried out of the hospital back to Baker Street. He stayed ensconced in the apartment for several days. He barely slept, ate, or drank. All he did was sit, smoke, and think.

Four days later, Watson came and said cheerfully to Holmes, "Giuliana's been released from the hospital."

Holmes did absolutely nothing. "Holmes! Did you hear me? Giuliana has been released. I though you'd be happy!"

Holmes still did not move even an inch. "Holmes?" Watson asked, now concerned for his friend. He walked around the chair so that he was directly in front of Holmes. The detective's eyes were open, staring off into space.

Watson waved his hand in front of Holmes's face, eliciting an immediate response. The tall man jerked his head back and grasped Watson's wrist firmly in one hand. As soon as he saw that it was Watson, Holmes released his hold on the wrist and said wearily, "What is it, Watson?"

"Giuliana has been released from the hospital," Watson said, exasperated.

Before Holmes could react, there came a knock at the door. A moment later, Mrs. Hudson came through the door holding a piece of paper and a brown paper wrapped package. "Mr. Holmes, this letter just arrived for you," she said, placing it on top of a stack of papers. Holmes did not move to take it or the package which still rested in her hands. He appeared to be catatonic again.

Watson rolled his eyes and took the package from Mrs. Hudson. He set it on the table in front of Holmes and left.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The next day dawned, and Holmes appeared to be exactly the same as when Watson had left the previous day. The change came when Sir Robert Raleigh and Jonathan Raleigh came again to Baker Street that very same morning.

Mrs. Hudson let them in, where they promptly sat down and merely looked at Holmes. Within seconds, Holmes asked them without moving, "May I ask, Gentlemen, why you have returned?"

"Gwendolyn de Bohun disappeared again. The Queen knows that it cannot be the same man, for he is imprisoned. We need to know if she returned to France," Sir Robert said.

"Regrettably, Gentlemen, I have too many cases already. I could not possibly take on another," Holmes said, still without moving.

"This case is for the Queen!" Jonathan, the younger one, exclaimed.

"I will not take the case. Now, if you two would kindly leave, it would be most appreciated," Holmes answered.

"As you wish, Mr. Holmes should be warned: the Queen will hear of this," Sir Robert said ominously, walking out with his nephew in a huff.

The second the door was closed, Holmes launched himself at the stack of papers that hid Giuliana's letter. He tore through them until he found it. As soon as he had the letter in hand, he ripped it open and read it once through quickly. Thankfully, he could speak Italian, for the entire letter was written in it.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_ From the event on the last day I saw you, I know that you will not read this until you have heard of my absence. Please, do not think it a reflection upon yourself or your actions that I am gone. My decision was necessary, for Arthur was far from the only person, and certainly not the only noble, who is currently searching for me._

_ As you have no doubt deduced by now, I am Giuliana Habsburg-Lorrain, daughter of Fernando IV, last Arch-Duke of Tuscany. However, this would still not account for all of my travels. To explain this, I will offer you only my mother's name: Christiane, Princess of France. I was born two weeks after my stillborn half-sister._

_ For the next part of my explanation, please remember that you have only saved me from one of my parents' numerous enemies. Since they are both related to and connected to royalty. If France and Italy were to have any type of alliance, it would shift the balance of power in Europe significantly their way. Many nobles do not want such an alliance to occur. They formed a society called _the Independent Nations Society_. Their main goal is to find and destroy anything that would shift the balance of power in Europe. Count Arthur was a member. He would have killed me, but he fell in love before he knew I was the one he was sent to kill._

_ Thirdly, soon after they found me their most important treasure, an emerald necklace that they took from my mother, went missing. Immediately, they blamed me. Their assumption was actually quite correct, as I had convinced a street urchin to steal it for me from Arthur. Since then, many more of their treasures have disappeared without a trace. This was, again, my work._

_ Finally, due to your hasty flight and lack of return, I perceived that you did not mean to do that. Knowing what kind of man you are, I shall offer only this: you would not have done that if you did not feel for me. Make of it what you will, but you cannot hide your feelings forever. Someone, probably John, will find out._

_ In closing, I will say only this. Please do not try to find me. You will not succeed. I must move on to escape Arthur's society._

_ Along with this letter, I have sent my emerald necklace. Keep it safe for me. I hope that I shall be able to see you again in the future and reclaim it. In the event that I do not, take care of it, please._

_ I wish you success in all your endeavours, Sherlock. Goodbye, hopefully not forever,_

_ Giuliana Vitoria Maria Antoinetta Luise Giuseppa Giovanna Tecla Germana Habsburb-Lorraine, Princess of France, Archduchess of Tuscany_

Disbelieving, Holmes read the letter through twice more before finally admitting to the validity of the contents.

He did not know what to think of it. All he knew was that Giuliana was gone, and he might never see her again.

That thought truly scared him, so much so that he ran to his own room, slammed and locked the door, and sat on his chair, trembling.

He spent three days in that state, trembling and desperately trying to regain control for his love that was God knows where. He had finally admitted that he loved her.

Finally, he decided to carry on for her. It would be hard, but he would retain a semblance of normality until he found her again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Two years later...

"Holmes, you must go to an opera! You haven't gone to a single performance in two years!" Watson exclaimed.

"Watson, desist! I shall not go to another opera!" Holmes exclaimed, storming up the stairs.

"Holmes, they have a new lead soprano, but not a diva. They say she's spectacular. Normally, you would have insisted that we attend," Watson said, trying to convince him.

"No! I will NOT go, Watson, and that is the end of it! Since you are so insistent, what is the name of the new soprano?"

"Giuliana DiVenire," Watson said, expecting Holmes to wince at the first name.

Almost immediately, Holmes was on his feet, running to get ready fast enough. Just as quickly, he ran to the cab and almost drove off without Watson. Watson, however, was able to jump in just in time.

Very soon, they arrived at the Royal Opera House. The detective forced himself to walk rather than run to their box, but he stopped short upon seeing the poster advertising the opera. Apparently, the diva had insisted on playing Pamino, forcing the new soprano into the exceptionally demanding role of the Queen of the Night. Holmes winced. That was the same song that Gwe- Giuliana had sung at the first concert. Gritting his teeth, the detective continued on his way to their box. He kept drumming his fingers on the railing until the performance of _The Magic Flute_ began.

After more than five minutes of other characters and the diva performing, the new soprano finally appeared. She appeared and told Tamino that the portrait was of her daughter, Pamino.

This new soprano had a wonderful voice, the best anyone at that opera house had ever heard. It was especially evident that she was better than the current diva because the diva had played the role the new singer now played and had botched the coloratura notes in the famous aria _Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen_.

However, the second the new soprano began to sing her first aria _O zittre nicht, mein liebr Sohn_, she stepped into a more illuminated portion of the stage. She had black hair, but a few tendrils of white hair stuck out from the wig. Her skin was pale white, and her ees a glistening red. It was her. It was his Giuliana!

In absolute joy, Holmes smiled blissfully, gazing down with love at his Giuliana.

The detective sat through the rest of the performance, enraptured by her stunning voice.

At the end of the performance, however, Holmes was anything but placid. He nearly cried out in frustration as the crowd inched its way out the doors. As soon as he could, he took long, quick strides to reach the door before she left.

Once he was outside, he began to look about desperately for Giuliana. Finally, he saw her standing beside a pillar, looking through the crowd hopefully.

Holmes began to weave through the crowd more quickly, always heading towards her. Within seconds, she saw him coming towards her. Immediately, she tried to dodge between people to get to him faster.

They met in the middle of the crowd and embraced each other desperately, each clinging to the other in the hope that this was not a dream.

After a minute, Holmes pulled away and placed a hand on her cheek. He hesitated for a second before leaning in and kissing her soundly on the lips. In response, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

The sight was comical and sweet to all who saw it. After, Holmes was over a foot taller than her, bending down while she stood on her toes. At the same time, it was immensely obvious that they had not seen each other in a long time.

After more than a minute, Giuliana dropped down from her toes, effectively breaking away. For several seconds, they just stared at each other before Holmes said, "I've been waiting for two years to do that."

She smiled, laughed lightly, and threw her arms around his torso. She ended up encircling him just above his waist, as that was the highest she could reach without him bending over. From there, he lifted her and twirled her around in the air, slowly so she would not hit a bystander. She began to giggle and then laugh full out.

Watson walked in on them just them. He stared agape as Holmes quickly put Giuliana down. The couple hurriedly straightened out their clothes and turned to look sheepishly at Watson.

"Holmes, Gwe- I mean Giuliana, what...What just happened?" he asked.

"Good to see you, as well John," she returned, reminding him of proper etiquette.

"Giuliana! You're here!" he exclaimed, realizing that he had not seen her in two years.

"It's good to see you, too, John," she answered, sincerely this time. She opened her arms, allowing him to rush forward and hug her as well, becoming the third person at the opera that night to abandon decorum.

"It hasn't been the same without your concerts, Giuli," he said into her ear before letting her go.

She stepped back and unconsciously aligned herself with Holmes. This did not go unnoticed by Watson. He glanced between the two several times before saying, "I knew it!"

"Enlighten us, John. What did you know?" Giuliana asked.

"For three days after you left, Holmes locked himself in his rooms. After that, he came out, but he was only a ghost of his former self. He loves you," Watson said, clarifying for the couple the extent of his knowledge.

Holmes blushed while Giuliana turned to him and asked, "Is that true?"

The detective found himself unable to speak under the gaze of her inquisitive eyes. Instead, he nodded and pulled her into another hug, pressing his face into her hair that seemed to have been thrown into a bun after the performance.

After several seconds, he broke away, but she stopped him from completely standing up by placing a hand on his cheek.

She just gazed up at him for a second before saying, "I love you, too."

Holmes's face froze in shock for several seconds before he swiftly leaned n and kissed her.


End file.
